Lover's Spit
by nikiness
Summary: Dead, sadly. Sorry, everybody. I can't promise that I will ever finish this but I'm leaving it up just in case.
1. ONE

**Title:** Lover's Spit  
**Author:** Niki Blue  
**Rating:** PG-13 for language and sexuality.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, kthx.  
**Pairings:** LoVe...haha, my first everrrrr. :)  
**Summary:** "This was deep. This was real." Takes place after the season finale.  
**Authors Note:** This starts right after the last episode of season one and goes slightly AU from there. This is how things would go if I ruled the world. Well, that and we'd eat ice cream for every meal. Reviews are like crack, so you should all feed my addiction. Plus, they keep my muse, Ferdinand (the monkey) from eating my hair. So that's always good.

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He was bleeding.

Bruises covered his face. His features were swollen, puffy. She might not have reckognized him, in the dim light, except for the bright yellow X-Terra parked haphazardly in the parking lot below.

"I was hoping it would be you," she said softly. He fell to his knees at her feet and wrapped his arms around her waist. He was mumbling _I'm sorry_ over and over again under his breathe. Clutching her. Clinging onto her. Pressing his face into her belly. Needing her.

It was all over the radio stations. His father. His father fucked Lilly. His father _killed_ Lilly. He'd thought Lilly was the love of his life. He hadn't known what love was, not back then, anyways. Now he knew. He was holding onto love. His arms were wrapped tightly around love's waist, his face was pressed into love's stomach. He was mumbling against love's skin.

"Logan..." Her voice was soft, gentle. She tried to pull him to his feet, but he wouldn't move; he just held on tighter. So instead she sank to her knees, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in closer. "Shhhh," she whispered against his hair. She pressed her lips against his temple, rubbed his back. He was trembling, his shoulders shook, and he was crying. He nuzzled his face into her neck, clinging tighter, his hands needy against her skin.

He hadn't been scared, not on the bridge anyway. Standing on the ledge, staring down at the black water he couldn't see, he'd been calm. Peaceful. Even when he lost his footing on the guardrail and slipped-- he hadn't been scared.

Even when he'd been on the ground, listening to the sound of Weevil's fists making contact with his flesh, he hasn't been scared. Not even when he could taste blood in his mouth or feel it running down his face. He wasn't scared.

But when he'd dragged himself back to the car and he'd started it up and the radio had come on, so loud that he'd felt it pounding in his bones-- he'd been scared. Because he knew. Scared because he'd come so close. So close to losing her. She still smelled like smoke.

She didn't know how long they sat in the doorway to her apartment. She wrapped her body around his as much as she could, pulled him in closer. He held her so tightly she thought he was trying to force her past his ribcage and inside of him where he could keep her safe.

It was starting to get cold. She had goosebumps on her skin. He could feel them as he ran his hands slowly down her arms. He wanted to touch her. All of her. To make sure she was real. Safe. Not a burned up body locked in a freezer somewhere. She stood up slowly, pulling him gently to his feet.

"Come on, we can't sit outside all night," she said. Her voice was soft. Gentle. He remembered the first time she'd used that voice with him. At that hotel, when they were looking for his mother. She'd used that voice that night. The first time she'd held him. Comforted him. He followed, obedient. He'd follow her anywhere, he realized. He was still touching her. Always touching her. His hands were on her waist, unwilling to let go even for a second.

She sat him down on the edge of her bed. He looked so small, sitting there. Scared. He looked fourteen or fifteen, nothing like the almost-man that he was. She used the edge of her tank top to wipe the tears off of his face. She wondered who he'd been crying for. Himself? Lilly? His father? Or maybe her? She was selfish, deep down. She hoped those tears were for her.

His clothes were damp and dirty, grit from the street clung to the fabric as she gently pulled it over his head. He sat, still and fixated, staring up at her as she carefully lay him down on the bed. They didn't speak, they didn't really need to. She could feel the fear and the guilt and the pain rolling off of him in waves. And something else too. Relief maybe? Maybe. Veronica pulled the blankets up and over his chest, tucking them around him tenderly. He shuddered, so slightly that she barely noticed, and reached his arms out towards her; they snaked around her waist and tugged gently.

"Veronica..." he whispered her name. A mixture of need and devotion. She crawled under the blankets and he pulled her tight against him.

When his mouth found hers, she felt herself mold to his body. Filling in his gaps and letting him fill hers. They were broken in all of the right places. They fit together in all of the right places. Like those "best friends" charm bracelets.

He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. He winced a little at her sudden weight pressing against his bruised ribcage, but his arms tightened around her at the same time and held her tightly. He'd almost lost her. He'd almost _lost_ her. It kept repeating in his mind, over and over. He'd almost lost _her_. He could have lost her.

"Logan..." she whispered. He buried his face in her neck and she could feel his hot tears dampening her hair. She akwardly shifted in his almost too-tight embrace to stroke his hair. She murmured his name softly. A sob shook his body, "I'm sorry, Veronica. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," he mumbled. His words were slurred together; she could barely make them out.

"Shhh," she mumbled, kissing the top of his head. Hot, wet tears slid down her cheeks as his hands smoothed back her hair. She tried to pull away, but Logan just tightened his grip. "No, no, no..." he pleaded, his lips moving against her skin.

"I'm going to hurt you," she whispered into his ear, "you're hurt..."

He wrapped one leg around hers and held her in place. "No, please..." he mumbled, "I just need... I need to feel you."

Clumsily, her mouth found his in the darkness. She closed her eyes tight, trying to convey every emotion ripping through her body. Relief, guilt, fear, pain... love. She loved him, more than any one person should be allowed to love somebody. It felt like she was too small to keep it all inside of her. Like maybe it would destroy her. She felt his pulse quicken, pounding against the inside of his chest.

"I need you," he mumbled against her lips. They kissed hungrily, greedily. Everything had come so close to ending. Everything. He'd almost lost everything, again. Lilly, he'd lost Lilly. But Lilly had never loved him; and maybe, deep down, he'd never really loved Lilly. Lust, yes. Love... he didn't know. Maybe he could have, if she'd let him. But Lilly didn't know anything about love. And Veronica... he clung tighter to her. Veronica _was_ love. His love.

She pulled back, her lungs burning as she gasped mouthfuls of air. Logan's eyes were closed, his breathing ragged. His hands clenched the fabric of her tank top, unwilling to let go. Veronica leaned down and softly kissed his eyelids, then his lips, carefully. She gently untangled his fists from her shirt and sat up. He whimpered softly and reached for her again, his eyes opening suddenly as he struggled to sit up. Gently, she helped him to the edge of the bed and shielded his eyes while she turned on her desk lamp. The room was flooded with a soft yellow glow. She sucked in her breath through her teeth. He was a mess. His face was scraped and deep purplish-blue bruises mottled his skin. One side of his mouth was starting to swell up. His chest and back were covered in cuts. The bruises looked like stains.

"Are you ok?" he asked softly, reaching out to touch the cut under her left eye. She smiled wryly, "I could ask you the same question," she pointed out. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed his thumb over her cheek. "Are you ok?" he repeated, insistantly.

Veronica nodded, raising herself to her feet. "I'm fine..."

His hands reached for her again as she moved towards her bedroom door. She could hear Back Up whining in the hallway and hear the clicking of his nails on the wooden floor. A smile played at the corner of her lips, but she quickly supressed it. "I'll be right back..." she said softly, comfortingly. "I'm just going to go get something to put on all of those cuts..."

She took her time rummaging through the medicine cabinet. Her father always kept a healthy supply of gauze and bandages, antiseptic and peroxide lying around .They always needed it. Sometimes finding out the truth hurt. She grabbed a big brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some neosporin and added that to the pile of bandages in her arms. She wasn't ready to go back into that room. The emotion... the emotions he was feeling, the emotions she felt when she was around him; they were all too much. They were overwhelming her. She was terrified. She'd never been very good at dealing with her emotions. Maybe that's why she'd gone after Lilly's killer rather than just mourn and move on like everyone else. And all she really wanted to do right now was run. Anywhere. Anywhere that didn't have Logan. She was scared. Scared of the emotion burning through her whenever she looked at him. A feeling a million times greater and more consuming than the puppy love she'd felt for Duncan or the lust she'd felt for Leo.

This was deep.

This was real.

She heard Logan softly whimpering her name from her bedroom and quickly closed the medicine cabinet. _Time to make a decision, Mars..._ she thought. Yeah, it was time to make a decision. She lifted her chin and walked back towards her bedroom purposely. For whatever it was worth, she loved Logan. And she could see the way he loved her back in his eyes. In every kiss. And maybe... maybe it was time she stopped weighing out the consequences and telling herself everything that _could_ go wrong and just... be Lilly for once.

Lilly was impulsive and sporadic. She lived life with her heart, not her head.

And maybe it was time that Veronica did the same.

She knelt in front of Logan again, his hands immediatly twining in her hair. He couldn't stop touching her. He was afraid that if he did, she would disappear and he'd wake up on the side of the road somewhere. Broken and bruised and alone. But if he just kept touching her, she would stay real. This would stay real.

His eyes widened like a childs when she soaked a piece of gauze in the peroxide. He jerked back, wrapping his arms clumsily around himself. "Logan..." she chided softly, trying to coax him back to the edge of the bed.

"Is it going to hurt?" he asked, looking down at her with wide trusting eyes. Veronica gave him a soft smile and pulled him closer, kneeling between his knees and lacing her fingers with his with her free hand. "Nope. And I'll even blow on it, to make sure it doesn't..." she promised.

He sat still, obedient, while she dabbed at his cuts. He winced and sucked in his breath, squeezing her hand when the liquid touched his ripped skin. She leaned in close and gently blew her breathe across the cut, as she'd promised. His grip on her hand loosened some as he let her finish.

This was an entirely different side of Logan Echolls. She'd never seen him so vunerable, not even right after Lilly died. But here he was, sitting on her bed. Vunerable and open. Afraid and alone. Staring down at her with complete trust in his eyes. The cynical side of her questioned how long this would last. A week? A month? A few days? Until tomorrow morning? But she'd seen Logan... really _seen_ him for the first time over the past month. He was different, changed.

His arms were around her again, pulling her up to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry..."

She smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead gently as she tried to ease onto his lap with out hurting him, or herself. "For what?"

"For everything. For-- for him..." he choked out. "For being an asshole... for telling you I wanted you dead. God, Veronica. I'm such a fuck up. I'm so messed up, Veronica. Just... Just make me leave. Tell me to get out of your life, Veronica... please..." he dissolved into tears. Begging _please_ over and over again. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, holding him close. He clung onto her, his arms wrapped almost painfully around her. But she didn't move. She just sat still and rubbed his back until his shoulders stopped shaking.

"Look at me..." He kept his head down, buried against her neck, refusing to look up. She wriggled around in his arms and cupped his chin gently in her hands. Forced him to look her in the eyes. "Look at me, Logan..." He finally met her eyes. His were red rimmed and wet; filled with pain. "You don't apologize for _him. _Not ever, ok? You're _not_ him. You're not your father!" she told him vehmently. It killed her. She could see it in his eyes; he thought that he was exactly like Aaron. And it killed her.

"What about--" he started, but she cut him off with a soft kiss.

"No," she said adamently. "Everyone says things they don't mean when they're pissed off. You had every right to hate me Logan. You still do. I... I wouldn't trust you. I didn't let myself trust you. I'm sorry..." her voice broke over the apology.

Logan didn't speak but his grip on her small body tightened almost imperceptibly. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, softly and gently. Like she would break under his hands if he touched her too roughly, kissed her too hard. He tried to ease her guilt, her pain, her regret. He wished he could take all of the hurt she felt, physical and emotional, and bear it for her. He would do anything for her. Walk through fire, take a bullet-- anything.

She barely realized that his hands were under her shirt, carressing her rapidly bruising skin. Her shoulder blades, her stomach. It didn't feel overtly sexual though. His hands and his mouth on hers were urgent, frantic. She could feel how afraid he'd been. Breaking every speed limit posting in Neptune, trying to get to her. Petrified that when he knocked on her front door, no one would answer. Terrified that no one would ever answer again. He just needed to feel her, every inch of her, to be reassured. To know that she was really there and something tangible.

And, she needed to feel him too. When she'd gotten Weevil's voicemail, telling her that he'd found Logan, standing on the same bridge his mother had jumped from drunk and walking the guardrail like a circus tight rope walker, her chest had constricted painfully. She'd started shaking, praying to whoever would listen to stop Weevil's next words from being "...and then he jumped."

And they hadn't been. He'd said "And then we dragged him down and beat the shit out of him. Left him layin' there, too. He won't be botherin' you anymore, V."

But that hadn't been any better. If anything, worse. Because now she could imagine Logan laying on the side of the road. Bleeding and broken and needing her more than anything. And she'd had no way of getting to him. Her car was a pile of scrap metal. She'd been frantically searching the entire apartment for Wallace's cell phone number when the door bell had rang. And it had been him. And the relief she'd felt had made her legs feel weak. Like she would collapse.

She reached down and grasped the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and letting it slip from her fingers onto the floor. Logan's eyes widened as she shifted on his lap, wrapping her legs around him and fitting herself against him like the missing piece to a puzzle. He closed his eyes and let his head drop to her shoulder. "Thank you," he murmured, his mouth tickling her skin.

Veronica sighed softly and lay against him. His rough hands gently carressed her shoulder blades. She could feel his heart beating an opposite rhythm from hers. And when his mouth found hers again, she didn't fight to keep herself from being overwhelmed. She _wanted_ to be overwhelmed. She closed her eyes tighter and gave herself over, gave herself to him. He'd already given himself to her. She didn't know when, but she'd known when she'd looked down into his trusting eyes. He was hers. And she desperately wanted to be his in return.

Time slid by in disjointed seconds, minutes... maybe even hours. She wasn't sure. The only thing she was completely sure of, was Logan's body. His touch, his warmth. The fact that he was safe and she was safe and Lilly was still dead, but somehow it was a little bit easier now that they knew who had killed her. It was unspoken, they fell together, fell into each other. Because somehow, it was just _right_ and they both knew it.

He covered her face with kisses as she let him inside of her, completely. Physically, emotionally. And she realized, somehwere in the jumble of thoughts and emotions, that she'd never felt this... whole before. Complete. They were quiet, Logan was mumbling softly against her skin. Incoherent. Her eyes were closed tight as she lost herself to him. In him. As he rocked into her, his hands found hers and he laced their fingers together. They clung to each other, both needy. Both desperate.

When it was over, he collapsed against her, laying his head on her chest. He was trembling and mumbling "_Love you. Love you. Love you"_ against her skin. She could feel his lips forming the words. Slowly, he eased onto his side and instinctively, she moved closer; pressing against his chest, tangling herself up in him. He pressed kisses against her forehead, her temples, the top of her head. Slow, lazy kisses. There was no urgency anymore. Everything was ok. Everything felt ok.

"Love you too," she whispered softly.

But he was already asleep.


	2. TWO

**Authors Note... **ok, so this is pretty short, but it's been a really effing long time since i updated. Plus, I'm still trying to grasp where this story is going. I had a definant outline I wanted to follow when I started it, but now it seems to be going in a different direction. Anyways, "I'll Be Yours" by Placebo was my MUSE-ic for this piece and as always, it's dedicated to my wonderful best friend and beta, Kristin.

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She closed her eyes. Tight. Tighter. If she squeezed them shut tight enough, maybe she could block this out. Maybe she could block everything out. She knew it was hopeless though.

He was dead. They'd told her they were sorry, that they had done everything they could. They'd tried, they said. She wanted to scream. She wanted to ask them why they hadn't tried _harder_, done _more_. She wanted to rage against them. But she hadn't. She'd sank to her knees, too weak to support herself anymore.

Her temples were starting to ache. She couldn't open her eyes, wouldn't. She didn't want to see that fucking casket. Covered in flowers from people who didn't give a fuck about Keith Mars anyway. They hated him while he was alive and loved him in death. Now, they had nothing but amusing ancedotes and funny stories to share. Now, they were saying he would be missed. She hated them. All of them.

She didn't feel Alica's arms around her. Or Logan's hand on the small of her back, rubbing in slow circles. She'd been numb for days. It felt like years though. She'd been numb since the phone call.

Lianne was sitting in the back, alone. She was crying. And drunk. Veronica didn't have to get close enough to smell her breath to know that she was drunk. She wanted to scream at her. To tell her to leave. But he wouldn't have wanted that. He was too good for that. He would have let her stay, so Veronica let her stay. But she wanted to tell her to stop crying. Just stop. Because she hadn't cried when she'd been fucking Jake Kane. She hadn't cried when she'd broken Keith's heart. She hadn't cried when she'd left them. Now-- now, she didn't deserve to cry.

The priest from the church that Keith and Lianne had been married in was talking. She wasn't listening. None of these people _knew_ him. All of the people filling the pews... where had they been when her father had been down? Probably kicking him. They'd hated him, ridiculed him, despised him. But now-- now, they loved him.

She wanted to spit in all of their faces.

Time moved in hesitant jerks now. She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, in front of the little marker shoved into the soft, wet ground. It said "Mars" on it. That's it. Just "Mars". It could have been her. Maybe it should have been. The headstone hadn't arrived yet. All shiny and new and engraved with his name and the dates and some inscription she barely remembered picking out. Maybe she'd stood there for minutes, but it felt like years. Maybe decades. When the hospital had called, time had stopped. Suddenly, unexpectedly, grinding to a hault. Seconds felt like hours. Hours, like years. Then everything had sped up. Days felt like seconds. Everything passed in a blur.

She felt like she was covered in cement. Her limbs felt heavy and akward. She slid down to the wet ground, not caring about grass stains on her knees or the stupid black dress. Her funeral dress. She'd worn it to Lilly's too. She lay down, suddenly too tired to pick herself up. Not caring who was watching. Not caring what anyone thought.

"Daddy..." she whimpered, laying face down in the newly dug earth. She was going to have mud under her fingernails, she thought.

His heart broke, watching her. He knelt beside her and slid his arms under her body. She felt hollow when he lifted her into his arms. "Shhh," he whispered into her hair. She smelled like rain and earth. "Shhh," he murmured. He knew what this felt like. He wished he didn't. But even more, he wished she didn't.

"It's going to be ok," he promised. He would make it ok. He would do anything to make it ok. He would be her lover, brother, father, mother. Anything she needed. He would be anything she needed.

She was silent as he carried her away from all of those fucking eyes. He lay her in the backseat of the Xterra and slid his suit jacket around her shoulders. She was so cold, like she'd been buried in the earth too.

She was still cold when he carried her up the stairs to her apartment. He wanted to say something, but there was nothing he could say to fix this, so he stayed quiet. When he sat her down in her bedroom, her legs barely held her up. She started to sink to the floor but he wrapped an arm around her and held her up.

"Veronica..."

Her eyes stayed glassy, distant. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned his forehead down to touch hers. "You can't do this, Veronica. You can't just leave me like this."

He slowly slid her dress over her head, fumbling with the zipper at the side. His fingers felt thick and clumsy as he peeled the wet fabric off of her body. Her skin was covered in goosebumps. He patiently helped her into the pajamas that were laying on her bedroom floor and wrapped her tightly in a blanket.

She lay against his chest, broken and distant, as he stroked her hair.

He wanted to fix this. He wanted to fix everything. He wanted to be her knight in white armor, but all he was, was a fucked up kid. He couldn't fix anything and it was killing him to know that. His hands were shaking as he touched her cheek.

He was so fucking angry. It scared him, that he could be this angry.

Maybe he _was_ just like his father.

He wondered if Aaron had ever wanted to kill _his_ father. Logan did. But killing Aaron couldn't bring back all of the things he'd taken away. It couldn't bring back Lilly, it couldn't bring back his mother. Or her father. It wouldn't erase the scars on his back. It wouldn't change anything.

But it would wipe that fucking smug look off his father's face.

And maybe that would be enough, for now.

When she woke up, she told him she was hungry.

He pulled her into his lap, stroked the hair back from her face. "What do you want, baby?" he asked. She looked younger than seventeen. He wanted to hide her in this bedroom and stand guard at the door. He wanted to protect her. He didn't want the world to get in and ruin her.

"I don't know." She nuzzled against his chest, wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. "Don't leave me."

Her voice was so quiet he could barely here her. She spoke into the fabric of his t-shirt. He wrapped himself tighter around her, buried his face into her hair. If he closed his eyes he could still smell the smoke on her. But it had been weeks.

"Never," he said. "Not as long as there are stars in the sky and sand in the ocean."

He made her pancakes. The kind his mom used to make him when he was little. Before she'd started drinking too much and eating too little. Before his father had ever given her a black eye.

He watched her eat, wiping the whipped cream off of her upper lip with a napkin and tickling her sides just to hear her giggle. And he talked, he talked incessently. About everything, anything. Because when it got quiet, that look found it's way back into her eyes.

It was cold and dark and when he looked into them he felt like he was falling.

When it was quiet, she remembered seeing her best friend's crumpled, bleeding body. She remembered that her mother had left her, smelling like cheap booze. She remembered that her father was buried in the ground.

She remembered that she was alone.


	3. THREE

Authors Note... Ok, for this part, I'm taking a little bit of a creative license here and re-working a few tiny little details. First of all, Lianne never came back after she left the rehab center. She checked herself out early and disappeared. Therefore, she never stole the money from them in the final episode blah blah blah all of that business. Ok, pretty much everything else is canon. This is pretty short... but yeah. The next chapter will seem like it's never going to end... /

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She never slept.

Not anymore, anyways. And when she did sleep, it was light and fitful. She never slept through the night anymore. Not in the weeks since she'd watched them put Keith Mars into the cold, muddy ground in Neptune's only cemetary.

And especially not now, with the woman that she would never again call _mom_ sleeping in the bedroom where her father should have been sleeping.

"You're only seventeen, Veronica," they'd told her. "You can't live there in that apartment on your own." They'd said she was a child. A child. She wanted to scream. To snarl at them. To ask, "Has any child been through half of the shit I have?"

But she didn't. She'd just watched through a crack in her bedroom door as Lianne Mars had moved her things back into the bedroom across the hall from Veronica's. Boxes and boxes of clothes that would replace Keith's in the closet and dresser drawers. Boxes of things that would clutter up the room that her father would never sleep in again.

The first night, Lianne had knocked on Veronica's bedroom door. Her only answer had been the swift clicking of the lock.

She'd stood out there for what felt like hours. But it couldn't have been more than thirty minutes. Pleading, begging. "Veronica, please. Just talk to me, baby?"

She'd closed her eyes tight. As though that would shut out her mother's voice on the other side of the door. It didn't help. Her hands clenched and unclenched the blankets. Forming tight fists.

"Baby, please... I just... I just want to tell you how sorry I am," she'd simpered. She sounded so geniuine that for a second Veronica wanted to unlock the door. She wanted to call her Mommy and let her smooth her hair back from her temples like she'd done when Veronica was six and she had a nightmare.

But this was the woman who'd broken Keith's heart. Who'd broken her own heart. The woman who'd left them all in the middle of the night, smelling like cheap convience store alcohol and Jake Kane's cologne. No, this woman was not her mother.

On the second night, Lianne made dinner.

Tacos.

Veronica had loved taco night when she was eight. Keith would play salsa music and they would dance and laugh and everyone had been smiling. Everyone had been laughing.

She didn't open the door when Lianne knocked. She ignored the pleading voice, begging her to come have dinner. "Please, baby... it'll be just like it used to."

No, nothing would be like it used to. Nothing.

Because Lilly was dead. Keith was dead. Her mother was an alcoholic.

Lianne left a plate of tacos outside of her door. In the morning, they were still there.

On the fifth night, Lianne had cried. She'd begged Veronica to open the door, to let her in. To talk to her. Yell at her. Anything.

The door didn't open.

For a long time, Lianne had set in front of Veronica's bedroom door. She could hear the clinking of bottles. Around 10 PM, Lianne's voice started slurring. By eleven she was drunk.

She was angry when she was drunk. She slammed her fists into the door. Yelled. "You're ungrateful, Veronica," she'd hissed. "I gave up so much for you. So much. I gave up everything for you and for... god, I gave up everything for fucking Keith Mars."

By 1 AM she was quiet. The floor boards creaked as she stumbled back to Keith's bedroom. She fell asleep face down on the bed. She was a messy drunk.

Five days. It had taken five days before she'd started drinking again.

Veronica wasn't surprised.

The red numbers on the alarm clock beside her bed said 2:04 AM when he knocked on the window. Soft, light. Afraid that Lianne would hear it and wake up. Veronica laughed bitterly to herself.

Lianne wouldn't wake up.

She pulled the window open and he stumbled inside, grabbing onto her waist to steady himself.

"You ok?" he whispered.

She shrugged. She always shrugged when he asked her that question.

Logan pulled her closer, wrapped his arms around her tighter. She was so cold. She was always so cold now. Sometimes it hurt him to touch her skin because he remembered when she'd been warm.

Sometimes, they would lay side by side in her bed, not touching. Wide awake and staring at the shadows that the passing cars made on her ceiling. Because it hurt him to touch her, to feel how cold she was. How dead she was.

Sometimes he wondered if it had really been her they'd put in the ground almost a month ago and not her father. But he knew better. She was lying beside him. He could hear her breathing.

Other nights, he would pull her close. Wrap his body around her and breathe on her skin. Cover her in kisses. Touch her until he knew every single inch of her skin. Because he wanted to remember when she'd been warm. Maybe he thought he could make her warm again if he held her tight enough. Kissed her long enough.

They fell onto her bed together. The springs squeaked lightly and Logan tensed. He waited for the sound of a door opening or Lianne's footsteps. They didn't come.

"She's drunk," Veronica explained. Her voice was blank and hoarse. She didn't talk much these days either. "You could fucking blast the Sex Pistols and she wouldn't wake up."

He didn't say anything. He just stroked her hair back from her face and rubbed her back in gentle circles. He knew better than anybody that sometimes, mothers weren't mothers. They were drunks.

And he knew that words wouldn't fix that. So he just held her.

"I want to leave," she said finally. He was almost asleep, it had been an hour and a half since she'd spoken.

"Where do you wanna go, baby?" He shifted, pulled her onto his chest and stroked her cheek.

"Anywhere," she told him. She buried her face against him, felt the steady rhythm of his heart. The way his chest rose and fell with each breathe he took. "She's not supposed to be here."

He didn't say anything. There wasn't anything he could say. He knew better than anyone that words didn't change shit. They wouldn't change that his mother had was gone. Or that her father was dead. They wouldn't change that her mother was a drunk and his father was in jail.

Words hadn't brought back Lilly. Words hadn't stopped his father from hitting him. Words hadn't brough his mother back to him.

Logan had given up on words a long time ago. They always failed him.

"I'll take you anywhere," he mumbled against her hair. He meant it and she knew it.

"No," she mumbled. Her bones felt too heavy. She was just so tired. Too tired. "The verdict is tomorrow."

She felt him shudder underneath her cheek. He'd forgotten.

"Yeah, I know," he lied. He'd forgotten that tomorrow, he'd have to sit in that courtroom again. He'd have to stare into his father's face. Listen to them read back a verdict.

Two counts of murder. Lilly and Keith.

One count of abduction. Veronica.

One count of possessing an illegal firearm. The 9mm they'd found tucked away in Aaron's sock drawer in his million dollar bedroom in their million dollar estate. The serial number had been conviently filed off.

His grip on her tightened, her fingers clenched handfuls of his shirt. 

"I'm scared," she told him. Her voice sounded small, tiny.

"Me too," he whispered back. But he didn't think she heard him. Her eyes were closing even as she fought to keep them open.

When she was asleep, he slowly slipped out of her arms. Kneeling beside her bedside, he tucked the blankets under her chin. She looked so innocent, so naive. So perfect. She didn't look like a girl who'd walked through hell and come out on the other side.

When he was satisified that she was asleep, he slid back out the window, just like he had every night since Lianne had moved in.

"I love you," she mumbled, pulling the blankets closer around her.


	4. FOUR

**Authors Note...** Yeah, I know this took forever but I was having a massive case of writers block. Plus, I had school and work and a new Firefly obsession. But anyways, here's the next part and I promise the next part won't take me so effing long to post. Haha. I love the comments you guys, fank joo. The comments and e-mails are the only reason why this story even still exists. I would have given up on it a long time ago. :huggles reviews:

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Maybe it was the fact that his name had been printed on the backs of countless DVD covers.

Maybe it was the bank accounts or the sea side estate. Maybe it was the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. Maybe it was the way he'd kissed that actress and told her he'd always love her and never leave her in his last movie. The one where he died saving the woman that he loved.

Maybe it was just the fact that he was Aaron Echolls. Maybe that was enough.

But somehow, some-fucking-how, Aaron Echolls' trial had been suspended.

Logan had cursed when they'd told him. He'd clenched up his fist and hit the wall until his knuckles were scraped raw and bruised. She'd watched him, knees drawn up to her chest. Pale.

He slumped down onto the bed beside her. Defeated. Apologizing. "I'm so sorry, baby. Veronica. Veronica, I'm so sorry," he'd mumbled.

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around him until he'd stopped shaking. She didn't know if he was apologizing for losing his temper, for scaring her. Or for his father being a murderer.

She pulled Logan's body closer to her own. "It's not your fault," she soothed.

He hugged her waist tight, reminding her more of a child than the seventeen year-old almost-man that he was. He'd lost his virginity when he was fourteen. He'd been so drunk he couldn't remember his own name, so fucked up that he couldn't stand up. So lost that he didn't think he'd ever be found. Didn't think he wanted to be found.

But now he felt like he was seven, like he was clean and untouched. Not quite so fucked up. Now, when he had his face buried in her stomach and her hands rubbing soothing little circles across his shoulder blades.

She tried to console him, told him that suspended didn't mean forever. That Aaron would still get what was coming to him. Maybe not tomorrow, or the next day. But eventually. She kept her voice low, calm and soothing. Letting her fingers tangle in his hair as she promised him that eventually, maybe in a few weeks. Months. Maybe as long as a year, but _eventually_. Aaron would be sorry he'd even touched Lilly Kane.

Sorry that he'd ever brought his belt down on Logan's back. Sorry that he'd ever lit the match that had killed Keith Mars.

Just sorry.

"What if..." Logan's voice breaks off, "What if they let him come home. What if he comes home, Veronica."

She rubbed his back gently, helplessly as she stared at the all just to the left of his head. She didn't know what to tell him, didn't know how to fix this. How to keep away the fear that was creeping into her own ribcage. She didn't know.

"I... he won't," she told him, voice sounding stronger than she felt. She forced a little more of that hardness into her voice as his arms tightened around her and his face pressed a little harder against his belly. He was still kneeling in front of her, looking too much like a scared little boy.

The way he must have looked and felt when Aaron had taken the belt to his back. Burned him with cigars. Treated him like he didn't matter. Veronica smoothed the hair off of his forehead, gentle and reassuringly, the way her own mother had done for her-- before she was too busy with the booze to notice anything besides a label of Jack Daniels.

She eased onto the floor with him, his arms still tight around her. Her face pressed against his collarbone as she craddled him like a mother would a scared little boy. Veronica murmured soothingly against his skin and she thought that she felt him break under her palms. Felt him break until he was in pieces, sobbing against her neck. Hot tears clung to her skin between them, dripping down to soak into her skirt.

She sat, methodically rubbing his back, soothing him. Not crying. No, she couldn't cry. She didn't know if it was that she didn't _want_ to cry, or if she just couldn't cry anymore. If she'd cried and cried until she had dried up inside and there was nothing else left inside of her but dry, shriveled up organs. A heart that pumped dust.

"Love you," he murmured against her skin. "Don't leave. Don't. Love you."

His words were broken, halting. Pleading. And she felt her heart breaking. No, she wasn't completely dry inside yet. There was still something there. Something that could break, hurt and ache for this beautiful boy in her arms.

"I'm not leaving, Logan," she promised. "Never. I'll never leave."

He was quiet after a while, his body slumped awkwardly against her and his breathing steadying. She lay him down gently, head resting in her lap, and pulled her blanket down off of her bed to tuck around them. She fell asleep with her head crooked painfuly to one side, hands still tangled in Logan's hair.

When Logan didn't come the next night, she knew that _he_ was home.

She felt it in her bones and she was terrified. More terrified than she'd ever been of the big bad wolf or the boogey man when she was little. Terrified of one man with a devestating grin and piercing eyes. A man whose son she loved so much she thought she would burst.

Her eyes closed and her hands fisted in the blankets she'd been hiding under all day. She'd avoided the tv's. Avoided anyone and everyone who might have told her the thiings she didn't want to hear. That Aaron Echolls, famous movie star and murderer was free again. Even if it was just for a month, a few weeks. He was home.

She'd fallen into a light, fitful sleep when the window started rattling in it's frame. Her heart jumped, tongue sticking to the roof of her cotton-y mouth. He was out there. Aaron. Her mind flashed over images of Lilly's body. Bloody and battered. Keith's. Burnt and twisted up in pain.

"Veronica," the voice was strained. Barely above a desperate wail. Familiar, like her own voice was familiar. Logan.

He wasn't tapping at the window. He was pounding, shaking-- trying to get her attention. Her eyes glanced to her bedroom door, listening for Lianne. Nothing. Silence. She was probably too drunk to stand up.

Veronica kicked the blankets off of her legs and stumbled over the bedroom floor, feet clumsy and heavy from sleep and pushed the window up. He was shaking when he fell through onto her floor, hands already reaching for her. Pulling her to him. Holding him close.

"Veronica," he murmured weakly.

She wrapped her arms around him and felt him wince. Her eyes widened and she pulled back just enough to switch on her desk lamp. He was kneeling on the floor, a broken mess. His face was a mess of bruises, a cut over his left eyebrow was still dripping blood down his cheek.

"Logan," she gasped out. Her hands fluttered over his face, not touching for fear of hurting him. He said nothing as she slid the t-shirt up and over his head, gently. His chest and back were welted, some creased with congealing blood, others just red. Bruises disappeared down into the waistband of his jeans and his shoulders were littered with something that looked like cigar burns.

Her stomach turned and she felt like she was going to be sick even as her hands clenched into fists. Angry. She'd promised him it would be ok and this was definantly not ok. He wasn't ok.

"Logan..." she said with a little more force. "Where is that fucking bastard?"

She didn't know what she was going to do. Her thoughts were moving too fast, thoughts about killing Aaron. Watching his body twitch as she brought a tire iron down on him again and again and again. She'd never been a violent person but she wanted to kill and maybe, in some sick way, it could get back what she'd lost. Lilly. Keith. Her life. Logan's childhood. Maybe.

Logan's eyes met hers briefly, then fell back to the floor. "D-dead," he stuttered. Then his eyes found hers again, held them. "Veronica... I killed him."


	5. FIVE

**Authors Note...** This part is really really short but I needed to get it out of the way so that I can get to the good stuff, hehe. I hope I explained why Aaron was allowed to be at home good enough. I figured, since he was a famous actor and we all know that they get special privelages (Yeah right, Winona... you were researching a _role_. Suurrreeee) that it would make sense that they let him out under house arrest. If not... well... just try to use your imagination, ok? Expect the next part in a few days.

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"You... you _what_?"

He was shaking, his shoulders hunched and his face hidden in his arms. If she looked carefully enough she thought she could see blood staining the sleeves of his t-shirt.

"I killed him," Logan repeated, voice emotionless and dead. He jerked his face upwards, searching out her eyes in the dim lighting. "I killed him. Veronica, I _killed_ him."

Veronica shivered, her skin prickling with goose bumps. She was suddenly cold, like her bones had frozen. "I..." he faltered, curling in on himself farther, fingers gripping his upper arms and squeezing hard. Like he was trying to reassure himself that he was still there. Still whole. "I killed him."

She knelt on the floor and gathered him into her lap, gently smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "Shhh," she whispered. "It's ok. It's alright, Logan. It's ok..."

She shuddered when one damp sleeve touched her arm. Damn and stained with blood. It left a dark rusty stain on her pale skin. She was lying to him. Nothing was going to be ok. They were going to take him away from her. There were rules and laws, a set of guidelines that you had to live by. Don't murder the murderer.

She pulled him to his feet and set him down on her bed. He was trembling and shaking. His skin was cold and pale. So pale that he looked gray in the dim lamp light. She tugged at his shirt until it was bunched up around his arms. He obediently lifted them and let her slide it off of him. She shuddered again as the wet material left rusty red streaks on her palms. She dropped it to the floor, the little voice in the back of her head chastising her. She was leaving evidence everywhere.

"Logan," she said, her tone harder. In control. She had to be in control because he sure as fuck wasn't. He was staring up at her with dark, hollow eyes looking more like a little boy than she'd ever seen him. "Logan... what did you do. Tell me exactly what happened. _Exactly_. Don't leave anything out."

His voice broke and faltered. "I... They brought him home. He had one of those ankle things... y'know, for house arrest. He couldn't... he couldn't leave the house. I grabbed some stuff... I have a bag. I think... I don't know. I packed stuff up... I..." his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I was going to leave because I couldn't-- I couldn't stay there with him. He kept pretending like nothing was wrong. Like he didn't fuck her. He fucked her, Veronica. And he was sitting there acting like nothing happened. He killed her and he killed--"

She knelt on the floor in front of him, cupping his chin in one of her hands and forcing him to look at her. "And then what?"

"I was leaving and he... he came downstairs and asked me where I was going and I started yelling... I told him that I knew. That I knew he killed her and your dad and that he tried to kill you and that I didn't believe him and I started screaming at him. He was so fucking smug, Veronica... and... I don't know. He hit me and I started hitting back and he just kept hitting me and yelling. And... he said if I didn't start acting like a son that he would... he made it seem like he would do something, Veronica. He made it seem like he would do something to you and I just... I grabbed a poker from the fireplace..." he trailed off, his eyes closing and his head falling forward, hot tears spilling out from under his long eyelashes. "I killed him. I'm him. I'm just like him."

"No," She told him firmly, stroking his cheek softly. "You're not. Listen to me, Logan... where is the body? Did anybody see you? Has anyone seen you since it happened?"

She wasn't sure if he'd heard her, but after a second he shook his head. "No. No one saw me. I left him... in the foyer. By the front door... I couldn't touch him."

Picking up his t-shirt, she gently wiped at the blood still staining his bare chest. "They're going to know it was you," she told him. She was shutting down. Filing her emotions away to be retrieved at a later date. She was all facts and logic now. "There's no point in going back and trying to clean up. It never works and we don't have time." She was talking while she grabbed her backpack from beside her desk and dumped all of her binders and textbooks out on the floor. Methodically, she emptied her dresser drawers, shoving as much as she could in the bag.

"Veronica?"

He was staring at her from the bed, lost and confused. His eyes were wide and he was still shaking so hard she could hear his teeth chattering.

"We can't stay, Logan. They're going to know it was you. This is the first place they'll look. We have to leave."

"We?"

She cast him a sideways look, zipping the bag up and throwing it over one of her shoulders. "The first thing they'll do," she continued, ignoring his question. "Is freeze your bank accounts. And we can't use credit cards... we can't leave a paper trail. We need to get all of your money out. Now. Can you make it back out the window?"

He nodded and she slid one arm around his waist, helping him stay steady. She grabbed his face between her hands and pulled him down into a soft kiss. "Logan," she said softly, "Everything is going to be ok."


	6. SIX

**Authors Note...** Ok, so, I know that this had been a little longer than a few days. But I blame school and stupid boyfriends for the delay. Anyway, the next part shouldn't take as long (Yes, I know I keep saying that but I'm pretty sure I actually mean it this time:pets her reviews: Have I said thank you yet for all the reviews?

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"Where are we going?"

Veronica didn't answer, her hands gripping the steering wheel of her dad's old Ford Taurus tighter. It felt awkward to drive his car, unnatural. But it had made sense to take the Taurus. It might take them days to find the body... or maybe they'd already found it. She had no idea how long they had to put as much distance between them and Neptune, California as they could. The bright yellow X-Terra would draw more attention than they needed and even Lamb would be able to figure out that it was no coincidence that both Logan and Veronica had gone missing at the same time.

"Veronica," Logan persisted, turning the radio down. "Veronica, are you mad?"

She almost laughed. A half-hysterical laugh. The sun was peaking over the trees and she'd been awake all night, her best friend was dead, her father was dead and her alkie mother was living in the bedroom she'd run away from smelling like booze and lies a few years ago. Oh and her boyfriend had just murdered his murderer father.

No, she wasn't mad.

"I'm not mad," she told him finally, sitting back and rolling her shoulders.

Logan eased one hand behind her, gently massaging the base of her neck. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. He sounded broken. Exhausted. The weight of what he'd done was pressing down on his shoulders, bowing out his spine and threatening to snap it in half.

She didn't answer but her grip on the steering wheel tightened again. Her knuckles were turning white with the pressure.

"Veronica?"

"Yeah, Logan."

"What are we going to do?"

He sounded so much like a little boy, lost and afraid and desperately looking for someone to turn his world right-side up again. "We're getting the hell out of Dodge," she replied, flicking her eyes over to look at his profile. "When I feel like we're far enough out of Neptune, we're going to stop and you're going to empty your bank account. You're going to get tens and fives. Nothing bigger than a twenty," she instructed.

Her voice had taken on that methodical, almost robotic quality. She was shutting down her emotions again.

"Logan?"

"Yeah, Veronica?"

She twisted her arm until she could reach the hand that he was using to rub her neck. She laced her fingers through his and brushed a quick kiss over his knuckles.

"Get some sleep."

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They were at a mini-mart when he woke up again.

The building was small and run down, it's cinderblock exterior painted a light blue. The paint was chipping off. He shifted, turning to look at the empty driver's seat. His heart skipped a beat. Or two. Or ten. His chest tightened and his breathing was ragged and erratic.

Until he saw her backing her way through the dirty glass door, holding an armful of paper bags and smiling. He visibly relaxed, his hands loosening their choke hold on the seatbelt crossing his chest.

"Cheetos?" she asked, waving the bag in his face when she slipped back into the car.

"Where are we?"

"About ten miles outside of Arizona," she said, rifling through the bag again. She produced two boxes of hairdye. One black and one dark red. "How do you feel about red heads?"

"Do the drapes match the rug?" he teased and Veronica threw him a dirty look. "What is that for anyway?"

She rolled her eyes at him and he realized, not for the first time, just how alike she and Lilly really could be. "They're going to be looking for us, Logan," she told him softly. "If not now, then soon. And we can't look like us when they start looking."

He nodded, staring down at his hands. "I'm sor--"

"Stop," she told him firmly, cutting him off. "Stop apologizing every three minutes Logan. Please."

His gaze on his hands intensified and she softened. "I know you're sorry. I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen. But it did and I chose to go with you. I could have called the cops on you, Logan and I didn't. I lo--" she broke off her sentence. "I mean, we're in this together, ok? So let's just find a motel room and... I don't know, figure out what to do next."

She quickly switched on the radio, turning it up too loudly for them to talk.

They only had to go a few blocks before she pulled off into the parking lot of the Sunset Park Motel. It was a long, low building with dirty patches of grass and an empty swimming pool in front of it. The parking lot was virtually empty.

The woman inside had barely looked at them as Veronica paid in the last of the cash that she had brought with her and took their key.

The motel room looked like every seedy motel room he had ever seen on one of those Lifetime mystery made-for-TV movies where the main character is on the run from the law for a crime she didn't commit. He stared down at his hands, remembering how his father's blood had coated his palms. This time the main character was on the run from the law for a crime he _did_ commit.

"C'mon," she said, coaxing him towards the bathroom. "Let's do you first."

He gave her a grin that he hoped at least shadowed the kid he'd used to be. "Why, Miss Mars, are you coming on to me?"

She sat him down on the closed toilet lid and produced a pair of scissors, which he immediately shied away from. "Uh-uh. No way, Mars. You are _not _cutting my hair. Turn me into a sad little goth kid? Sure. I can deal with that," he said, gesturing towards the box of black hairdye she'd sat at the edge of the sink. "But come near me with those scissors? No fuckin' way."

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, you _want_ to share a bunk with Bubba? I hear he's been waitin' fer ya, honey lips."

"Touche, Mars. Well played," he held up his hands in mock defeat. "Cut away. But try not to give me a bald spot."

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"Veronica?"

He tapped on the bathroom door and heard some quick shuffling around but it could't mask the sound of soft crying he'd woken up to.

He knew that sound. He'd caught his mother crying into her pillow more times than he could count on both hands. Logan ran one hand over his slightly shorter, jet black hair. "Veronica.." he coaxed. "Open the door, baby."

He heard the toilet flush and she hestitantly opened the door, looking too small with her butchered, bright red hair and the oversized sweatshirt he'd bought for her at Wal-Mart. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were tear-streaked.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. She crossed the gap between them and pushed her face into his chest, her small hands fisting in his t-shirt. Logan wrapped his arms around her tight, rubbing small circles on her back.

"I'm scared," she mumbled, face still buried against his chest.

"Me too," he admitted. She felt too small under his hands. He could feel the every vertabrae through the thick hoodie and he realized she had barely eaten a full meal since Keith died.

"Logan?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Tell me a story?"

The edges of his lips quirked up in a smile. No one would ever believe him that the badass, in-control, Veronica Mars would cry into his two dollar T-shirt and ask him for a story. He wouldn't have believed it, just six months ago.

"Alright," he said, struggling to keep his voice soft and soothing. He walked them backwards until his legs hit the dge of the bed and he sat, pulling her into his arms. "Ok, so Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess--"

Her body went rigid in his arms when the pounding on the door started. "This is Sheriff Thomas WIlcox," the voice on the other side yelled. "Open up the door."


	7. SEVEN

**authors note.. **Mkay, so I promised I wouldn't wait a million years before I updated again and this time I'm actually sticking to it, haha. This chapter gets a little NC-17 towards the bottom, just so you know.

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She was stiff and freezing cold. Shock, she thought to herself. This was shock.

A physical reaction to fear and panic. She could name off every single symptom but she couldn't stop herself from clinging to Logan desperately when he stood up and made a move towards the door. This wasn't supposed to happen. She'd planned everything down to the last detail.

They'd ditched their clothes, their cell phones, their identification. Everything. They'd changed their hair and Logan had emptied his bank account into small unmarked bills and in the morning they would trade the Taurus in for another non-descript car and maybe try to find some fake IDs with new names.

But she'd missed something, obviously. She'd missed something if they'd been caught already. And she couldn't figure out what she had missed.

The next few minutes flashed in front of her eyes. Logan in handcuffs, apologizing to her while they lead them to the police cruiser waiting in front of the building. His pale skin would look stained with the flashing lights. She wondered briefly if she would cry.

"Logan, no," she choked out. He glanced back at her and squared his shoulders.

"Evenin', son," the officer said when Logan swung the door back. He kept his face expressionless, a trait he'd picked up having the great Aaron Echolls as a father. The less he'd cried, the fewer swings of the belt. The less he'd cried, the fewer bruises he'd have to explain away the next day.

He kept his voice neutral. "Something we can do for you, Sheriff?"

The officer peered behind him at Veronica, looking tiny and small on the bed. "You two the owner of that Taurus over there?" he asked, gesturing to Keith's car.

"Yup."

The smile on Logan's face was threatening to falter. His heart was pounding in his ears as he struggled not to show it on his face.

"Y'know you left yer lights on, son?" the sheriff asked. "I 'spect you've run down your battery by now. I got jumper cables in the back of the cruiser if ya want a jump. You're lucky Mr. Anderson over there," he gestured towards the main building of the hotel, "noticed the lights on and called me up."

The rush of relief made Logan's hands shake, as he reached for the keys on the dresser by the door. "Yeah, that'd be great. We forgot all about them," he said as he stepped outside and closed the door on Veronica's tear streaked face. "Newlyweds," he confided with a suggestive wink.

The sheriff nodded knowingly, "Looks like yer missus ain't havin' that good of a honeymoon."

Logan shrugged it off, "Yeah, her folks weren't thrilled that we got married so young. Her mom just called and threw a fit."

He was the son of an actor, he thought derisively. The lies felt so natural, spilling past his lips. He told the older man that they'd been married by a justice of the peace in Chula Vista, California. They were on their way to Roswell, New Mexico for their honeymoon. The wifey had a thing for aliens. His name was Jason Webber and he wanted to be an architect like his father. His parents were supportive, hers weren't.

It felt so natural and easy that he almost believed the shit he was spewing himself.

After a few minutes, the car's engine rolled over and the Taurus sputtered to life. "There ya go, Jason," the sheriff said, reaching out a hand to shake Logan's own. "Just leave 'er runnin' for about thirty minutes and she'll be fine. Tell yer missus I said congratulations on the weddin'."

He watched the police cruiser's headlights disappear down the highway before he went inside. Veronica was curled up, half asleep. One hand was clenching the blankets so tight that her knuckles were pale and her cheeks were streaked with fresh tear marks.

"Hey," he soothed, sitting down beside her and tracing circles on her shoulder blades. "It's alright, Veronica. We just left the lights on in the car. That's it. He doesn't know about us. He didn't even know who we were," he promised.

His gut clenched painfully to see her like this. She was Veronica Mars, sarcastic and snappy. She was in control and strong and alive and the girl curled up on the motel's dirty blanket was not the same girl who had taken all he'd had to dish out over the last year and dealt it back to him, ten fold.

She was not the same Veronica who had doggedly fought to find Lilly's killer. She wasn't the same girl who'd planted a bong in his locker and screwed up Dick's car.

She was broken.

Something inside of her had snapped and splintered the night Keith died. The night that she'd been trapped inside of a burning freezer. She was smaller. She didn't smile anymore, her face was always pale and pinched. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smile.

And he hated himself. Because instead of helping, he'd hurt. Instead of fixing her, he'd made it worse. He'd killed Aaron and instead of turning himself in or running away, he'd turned to her like he always did when he was in trouble.

And he'd dragged her into trouble with him.

"God," he mumbled, burying his face against her neck. "Veronica. I am so sorry. God, Veronica. I'm sorry." He crawled into bed next to her and buried his face against her neck.

Her arms wrapped tight around his waist and tugged, pulling him down with her. Her ribs were sharp ridges under his palms, he could count them with his fingertips. She wrapped herself around his body, pressing her nose against his collarbone.

"Shhh, baby," he whispered, rubbing slow circles on her shoulder blades and dipping his face down to lick at the tears dripping down her cheeks. "It's ok. He didn't know who we were. I bet no one is even looking for us yet."

She shuddered under his fingers and he didn't know if it were out of fear or relief that they hadn't been caught. "I'm going to take care of you, Veronica," he swore, stroking the tangled hair out of her face.

"I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you," she teased feebly, her voice still shaking.

He laughed and nuzzled his face into her hair. "We'll take care of each other."

He pressed kisses down on top of her tangled hair, his fingers stroking up and down her spine. With a little whimper, she arched towards him, hooking one leg over his hip and drawing him closer.

He mumbled her name, kissing her eyelids and her cheeks and finally her mouth, pressing his tongue tentatively against the seam of her lips. She parted them for him, rocking her hips against his again.

"God, Veronica," he gasped, one hand sliding down to cup her breast and squeeze. She moaned and let her head fall back and Logan latched onto her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave little red marks on her skin. Veronica is panting his name as he pulls at her sweatshirt, tangling them both up in it. She giggles and ducks out of it and Logan sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"God, Veronica," he mumbled as his hands clumsily found her breasts. With a sharp moan, she arched her back into his hands and rubbed against his palms.

"Lay down, baby," he choked out, easing her onto her back while he fumbled with the waistband of the cheap jeans she was wearing. His fingers felt clumsy over the buttons; she reached down to help him, wiggling them down her thighs. Logan pressed hot, open mouthed kisses against her skin, his tongue tracing the line of her collarbone and down her stomach while he knelt between her legs.

His eyes found hers, silently asking if she's ok, Veronica choked out a moan, lifting her hips to rub against him and he stops asking and starts touching. His fingertips are soft on her thighs, quick ghosting movements as he leaned over her, lapping at her through the wet cotton of her underwear.

She mumbles his name in a breathy little voice, over and over again like she's repeating a prayer as his fingers work inside the thin cotton and pull them down off of her hips. He goes painfully slow, pausing to blow softly against her slick skin. With a whine, she bucks her hips up towards his face and he buries his mouth against her.

She felt like every muscle in her body was tensed and pulled tight. Her hands clench on the bedsheets and her hipbones press against his palms as she bucks against him. She came with a shudder, her body going limp in his hands as he eases her through it. Veronica is still shaking as he wipes his mouth with a corner of his discarded t-shirt and gathers her up in his arms.

"You ok?"

Her mouth moves soundlessly and finally, she nodded and buried her face against his chest, clinging to him. Logan rubbed soft circles against her shoulderblades, ignoring the painful ache between his thighs until she stopped shaking.

"Logan," she whispered, her voice still harsh and ragged.

"Yeah, Veronica?"

"I need you," she looked up at him through the blonde tangles in her face. "Please?"

He groans, burying his face in her neck as Veronica's hands flutter at the waistband of his jeans. His stomach muscles clenched at every feather light touch of her fingertips. He kneels between her legs again and she obediently parts her thighs for him.

"Look at me," he mumbles through clenched teeth, his hands holding her cheeks. Veronica's eyelids felt heavy as she looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip. He eased inside of her, moaning and falling forward on his elbows. She wimpered and bucked her hips against his. He could barely breathe as he rocked inside her, mumbling her name like a hail mary.

He stopped breathing when he came, his body shuddering and his arms giving out. Logan sucked in a deep breath and shifted to the side to keep from crushing her. Veronica sighed softly and shifted closer as he pressed sloppy kisses against her shoulders.

"I'm always going to take care of you," he mumbled, hugging her close and burying his face against the back of her neck.


	8. NOTE

Contrary to popular belief, I haven't forgotten about this story! I know it's been a while since I've updated, but my entire writing style has changed so much since the first chapters of Lover's Spit and I don't feel like this story reflects my abilities anymore. I was going to remove it from the site and let it fade away with the other half-written epics that I never finished, but I love the original concept too much to do that.

So, instead, I'm going to be re-writing this story, chapter by chapter and re-uploading them. I just wanted everyone to know so that when it does disappear, no one will be upset. (If anyone even still remembers this story?)

Love & stuff,

Niki Blue


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